"How do you raise a house full of psychopaths, Dr. Choi?" she asked, looking back through the glass at the small boy.
"Very carefully, Dr. Min. Very carefully."
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I made it. Chan says fuck you.
Choi Jihoon stared down at the text from his twin brother, Yoongi. As if Jihoon didn't know Yoongi had made it to Aiden's safely. There was never a time when they didn't know where the other one was or what they were doing. Not without putting effort into breaking the connection.
Jihoon didn't say any of that. Just typed back: Tell him fuck you right back.
There was no malice in their exchange. Jihoon enjoyed spending time with all his brothers, though given the complicated history between his father and Aiden, it felt weird calling Aiden his brother. At the moment, it was harder to call choi Minho his father.
Minho was the reason for Jihoon's suffering. He was the reason for his agitation, for this sudden need to kill something with his bare hands. Jihoon usually killed for pleasure. Sure, it was necessary. There was no killing without cause in the Choi family. That was the cardinal rule, and breaking it would result in a bullet to the head. But there was no shortage of people who needed to get dead.
A jarring laugh pierced the inaudible murmur of unending conversation around him. A bullet to the head would be preferable to his current surroundings. But his father was hellbent on torturing Jihoon, it seemed. In addition to exiling his brother to bum-fuck nowhere, he'd sent Jihoon to the press awards dinner to accept his bullshit honorary award and to make an acceptance speech in his name.
Jihoon had done neither.
It was all taking too long. He drained his whiskey, gaze scanning the throng of people in their black-tie finery. How the fuck was it barely seven o'clock? Had his father also mastered the art of slowing time for maximum irritation? The sound of silverware scraping against china and glasses clinking together, combined with the nauseating scent of rubber chicken and the spill mats behind the bar, was all too much.
Especially without Yoongi.
People found their closeness odd. There were rumors, quiet whispers behind hands, blind items implying they were far closer than two brothers ever should be. It wasn't true. What they had went beyond physical. It wasn't something sexual or even mental. It was...universal. They were created to function as a unit. Not to be separated. They were two halves of a whole, and they hadn't spent more than a night or two apart in over twenty years.
His father said he wasn't doing it to be cruel—that it was imperative that one could function without the other, just in case. In case of what? There was no Jihoon without Yoongi, and vice versa. If one was killed, they might as well put the other down immediately. But his father didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to believe it. So, now, they were forced to endure this ridiculous experiment under the guise of helpfulness. Yoongi just had to be the one to help Aiden with a kill across the country. It was bullshit. They all knew it.
He tugged at his collar, loosening his bowtie before sliding it free. He signaled for another whiskey as he contemplated just leaving. He'd already missed his father's award, leaving some random woman to accept it for him. Something Jihoon would no doubt hear about tomorrow.
